Nonverbal
by Perfect Mischief
Summary: Ginny had better be good at nonverbal spells, because after she insults an old matchmaker, she's bestowed a curse. A curse that makes it impossible for her to talk. And the only way to lift it? A kiss from her true love. Hopefully not too cliche! R&R.
1. Prologue

I hadn't wanted to see the old matchmaker in the first place, the whole idea seemed stupid to me. But it was no use arguing with Mum. Once a Weasley, always a Weasley, I suppose. Stubbornness and all. Sigh. Anyways, I didn't really see why I had to see a matchmaker; I was young still, just seventeen. I had plenty of time to fall in love, get married, live happily ever after, and all that fantasy stuff Mum imagined. And I still held out hope for Harry, however little hope it was, though he and Hermione were the epitome of love itself. Though it wasn't as though I still loved him; more, he was my fall-back candidate. Ron and Luna were no better, and I feared soon all my friends and family would be married and happy, 'til death do they part. According to Mum, Harry was even going to propose to Luna next Christmas.

As we walked down the obscure cobblestone path, Mum was chattering on and on about how this matchmaker had first introduced her to Dad, and their first date, and blah blah blah. I was no hopeless romantic, like those flimsy girls in the romance novels Hermione kept giving me. Up ahead I could see a small cottage, painted a cough- potion pink. It was a sickening color, unlike the pale pink of the purse Mum was carrying. The roof was bright white, giving the home a birdhouse look. I concentrated on the number of steps it took until we reached the steps to the door. A perfect red heart was painted on the old wooden door. A bronze knocker interrupted the middle of it. Mum picked it up and dropped it, the clunk of metal against wood echoing behind us.

"Come een, Mees Veasley and daughter," a voice rasped from somewhere in the tiny house.

Mum opened the door, and we heard the jingling of bells that dangled from the inside doorknob. We walked in, and the smell of perfume intoxicated me. I gagged at first, poking my head back out of the door and gasping in a breath of fresh air, the last for the rest of the visit.

"Stop being so dramatic," Mum reprimanded me. I pouted and resisted the urge to storm out of the building. My worn out sneakers squeaked on the shiny dark floorboards.

We walked into a room covered in a thin Persian rug with a roaring fire, (extremely odd in the middle of summer, might I add) a coffee table covered in a giant doily, and a large maroon armchair. Upon it sat a small woman with dark leathery skin. Bags sagged under her heavily made-up eyes. Her ebony hair flowed out of the sheer red scarf head band and heavy gold earrings dangled from her earlobes. She wore more shawls than Professor Trelawney and a flowing skirt that reached her ankles. She was beautiful in a mature way, and I could only imagine what she looked like when she was younger. I never thought I would meet a Gypsy, much less one that was really a witch.

"Velcome, Molly. And eez zis your young Geeny?" she rasped.

"Oh, it's such a pleasure to see you again, Madame Lyutbitshka." Mum picked up the old woman's wrinkly hand and kissed it. Madame Lyutbitshka lowered her hand with a tired smile.

"And you and Arthur are steel happy?" she questioned, her eyebrow lifting expectantly.

"Oh, of course. I just hope Ginny could find a man she can love as much as I love Arthur." Gag. And Mom thought _I _was the dramatic one. Madame Lyutbitshka grinned wider, her lower eyelids rising into her eyes.

"Zank you for coming, Molly. I shust need to ask Geeny a few questions alone. You remember?" she asked, smiling so small pointed teeth showed.

"Oh. Right," Mum's smile faltered, but she dipped her head respectfully and said her farewells.

"Now, let me zee you," the Madame said once Mum had Disappirated. I stood straight and held my arms limply at my sides. She looked me up and down, and I could feel her eyes burning into me, into my soul, straight into my heart. I felt totally naked in front of her gaze.

"You have a lovely frame. Quite zee preetty face, may I add?" I blushed and muttered a thank you. "Speen." I took that to mean, "spin" and I did, slowly.

"Now, seet down, draga." She conjured a stool with her squat wand. I sat.

"Zo, what do you vant een a man? Does he have to be tall, short, vat, skeeny?" I tried not to giggle.

"Well, I'd like him to be taller than me. But I don't really think much about looks, especially if he's boring." Lyutbishka chuckled at that.

"Anything else? A preety girl like you should be with a nice man with zee brown hair, no?" I puzzled at this. I didn't much care for brunettes, anyways. But I thought I'd be difficult, so I could leave soon and not be expected to come back.

"Um, I don't think it really matters. I mean, this is a bit shallow, isn't it? Choosing people for their hair color?" She smiled, but I could tell it wasn't genuine.

"Please, do not question my art."

"I'm not questioning it. I'm just saying that I think we should start talking about personalities now." I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The small woman's face twitched and her eyes narrowed considerably. I had something next in mind; something I knew would really tick her off.

"Fine. Zo be eet." Her wand hand shook a bit. I was surprised at how angry she was; I hadn't thought this would have upset her so much. Perhaps it was because I was undermining her zillion years of practice. Ah, well. I wasn't particularly scared of her, though little did I know, I definitely should have been. "And vat personality have you been craving, _draga?_" She emphasized the word, though I did not know what it meant. Years later, when asked, Hermione had looked it up for me and found it was Romanian for "dear." That makes me laugh, every time I recall this day.

"Well, I'm not sure. But could you use a nicer tone, please? It would help me think." I was being such a jerk, but hopefully she would just ask me to leave and not come back.

"Vy, you ungrateful leetle girl! How dare you!" Madame Lyutbishka cried, her hand squeezing her wand in a death-grip.

"How dare I what?" I widened my eyes and folded my hands in my lap, feigning innocence. But she saw me trying to hide my smile and her eyes widened in anger. Her mouth became a thin red line.

"Get out of zee house."

"That's no way to treat a client." Thank Gods this was working! I just wanted to go home and sleep. Though I did feel bad for mistreating her, I really didn't think I needed a matchmaker. I silently tossed a galleon under the coffee table to repay her when her eyes were closed as she tried to calm herself. It was the least I could do, even if it meant I couldn't buy the sundress I had been eyeing in Diagon Alley.

"You nasty child. You shall regret ever setting foot in zis house," she hissed, her eyes glaring daggers at me. I started cowering in my seat. I didn't bother making a remark as I was already feeling scared of this tiny ball of fire. She picked up her wand and shouted a spell I couldn't hear as light shot out of the tip and into my chest. It spread out, sending what felt like electrical charges across my body. My hands shook and I tried to stand up, only to fall on the floor.

"Seence you have no respect with your words, you shall no longer talk until you are kissed by your true love." She spat. _You have _got _to be kidding me_, my head cried. I opened my mouth to scream as tingles shot through me, but no sound came out. The tingles didn't hurt, exactly, but it was intensely uncomfortable. I lay face-flat on the carpet until the tingles finally stopped. I could hear her laughs echoing in the room, and as I stood up, the telltale crack of Disapparition left me standing alone.

_This is a nightmare. You are going to wake up. Wake up. Wake up! _I shouted in my head, but several pinches later I realized I was wide-awake. "Hello?" I tried to call, and even though I could feel my throat vibrating, I couldn't hear the sound of my voice. A tear escaped my eye as I Apparated home.


	2. Chapter 1

I had been silent for three years when I walked into the Ministry building, the click-clack of my heels echoing in my ears. I was still trying to find a job, but apparently no one was hiring a mute girl. Mum had cried at first, but now she had sort of accepted it, though she frequently reminded me that she missed hearing me sing while I helped her in the kitchen. And I had learned my lesson about disrespect.

I walked up to the front desk, tapping the bell so the young woman who was furiously scribbling things on a piece of parchment would know I was there.

"How may I help you?" she said, not looking up. I politely tapped the bell again and pulled one of my many notebooks out of my pocket. _Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley. Which floor is the Job Management office? _I ripped out the page and placed it on top of her be-scribbled parchment. I saw her brow furrow as she quickly scanned the note.

"Ginny Weasley? Is that you?" She looked at me over the counter. I recognized her immediately as Hannah Abbot, former Hufflepuff in Ron's year. I smiled and gave a little nod. She looked curiously at me. "Can you..." she began, then motioned towards her mouth. I shook my head, my stick straight hair jiggling a bit, causing my bangs to fall into my eyes.. She smiled sympathetically. My own smile hardened a bit; I had never like pity, even when I could talk. I never accepted money when people heard my surname, never took the extra help people gave me just because of my economical status. No sir, sympathetic smiles were highly unwelcome in the silent life of Ginny Weasley.

She looked back down at her parchment and saw my note again. "Oh, Job Management is on Level 7." She nodded towards the lift, then went back to her parchment. I wished for the billionth time that I had my voice. I wanted to catch up with her, see how things were going with her and Neville (Hermione and my mother kept me up to date on the gossip). I wanted to talk about funny memories at Hogwarts, and the time we had run into each other in the hall and my wand had accidentally poked her and she turned into a frog. We hadn't been very close, but I desperately needed more friends, or at least, more contact.

I sighed and receded to the lift.

--

I knocked twice on the door with a shiny bronze plaque reading "Job Management".

It opened magically and a tall skinny balding man sat at the metal desk, looking bored and lazily doodling on official Ministry stationary. He looked up at me and grunted. I sat down in one of the plastic red chairs in front of his desk and set my notebook down.

"Hi. Name please."

I picked up a quill off his desk and wrote my name, then passed the paper to him. He glared at it momentarily, and then looked up.

"What kinda job do you want, lady?" he grumbled, his voice quite deep.

I added a word to my former note. _Receptionist_. I pushed the note towards him.

He grunted again and asked the million-dollar question. "You can't speak?" He spoke slowly with extra enunciation, as though I were slow.

I shook my head, and then scratched a message onto my notebook. _I'm cursed, not dumb._

"That's gonna be an issue, capiche?"

I nodded fervently, then tapped the other note again, _Receptionist Receptionist Receptionist. _I thought myself overqualified, but due to my lack of speech, apparently I was way, way under qualified. So much for working my arse off during seventh year for those Hermione-esque N.E.W.T.s.

He opened up a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thin file labeled "Reception". Opening it, a couple neon pink sticky notes fell out and he let out his signature grunt as he picked them up off the floor. I laughed; at least, I did in all respects except the noise factor. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I missed the sound of my own laugh. It was beginning to fade from my mind. Meanwhile, the Job Management guy (of which the title Job Manager sounded much too big) was leafing through what appeared to be all six papers in the folder.

He pulled out a couple and skimmed over them. Without asking me, he picked up his telephone (for these handy Muggle devices had come into fashion recently- imagine being able to talk to people miles away! Now _that's _magic,) and dialed a number. Grunt. I heard the buzz of a voice but I couldn't make out words.

"Yeah, it's Craig from Job Management. You still need a receptionist?" The person on the other phone was chattering away. Bill looked more bored than I felt. "Yeah, should I send her over? Okay. Will do, ma'am. Oh and miss? There's somethin' a bit different 'bout this girl." He glanced up at me, probably wondering if I understood what he was saying. "She can't speak, ma'am." The lady on the phone jabbered away at this, and Craig hung up. He looked back at me. "Okay, lady. They got an opening for ya in the Department o' Magical Transportation, Level Six." I nodded a bit sharply in thanks and turned to leave, as quickly as possible. "Wait! Miss?" Craig called.

I spun on the ball of my foot. I cocked her head and pursed my lips, as if to say, "What?"

"You forgot your notebook."

I snatched it, Craig grunted, and soon, I was safe inside of the lift.

"Level 6, Department of Magical Transportation," a cool female voice declared.

The ride ended all too soon.

I walked out onto the corridor, not knowing which office I was needed in. I walked to the first, marked Floo Regulation. The door was unlocked. The office was large, with paper strewn everywhere. There were maps marked with little green dots where I supposed the fireplaces of Floo-ing magic folk resided. An old witch looked up at me warmly and smiled.

"Are you looking for someone, dear?" Her voice was warm and her gray locks had little flecks of green Floo powder embedded in them.

I picked up my notebook, then looked about the tables for a quill. I found one next to an oblong object I supposed was used for allowing houses to Floo, but I had no idea how. _I'm Ginny Weasley, the new receptionist._ I showed her the note. I didn't tear it out; I was sure I would need it again before I went home.

The woman smiled at me, then kindly asked, "You're Arthur's girl?" I nodded. "Oh dear, we met when you were small. I'm Marian, Marian McDougal, an old friend of your father's." She smiled sympathetically, and I was about to write _I don't need sympathy, thank you, _but there was something in her eyes, a warmness that reminded me of the way my grandmother looked at me when I was little. I smiled back graciously and pointed back at _new receptionist._ "Oh, right across the hall, third door from the left. Broom Regulatory Control." I gave her a small hug and left.

The Broom Regulatory Control was quite large, with a small lobby area in the front and doors to several offices. I noticed the inside of the door was battered and dented as I closed it. There was an empty desk with numerous files and a sad looking office chair. I'd assume the former receptionist was a blond, with quite long hair, by the thin strands of clear hairs left on the chair. I wasn't sure if I was to just to sit down at the desk and work or wait for someone to show me around.

I decided I would knock on a door, but I wasn't quite sure which one. "Braking Charm Testing" "Flying Charm Testing" "Safety Charm Testing" and so on, until finally I reached one named "Management." It sounded promising, and the one most likely to not get my shoes dirty.

I knocked a couple times, and as with Job Management the door magically swung open. I had a feeling this would come in handy someday.

Sitting in a wide office with a mahogany desk and windows charmed to have a view of Big Ben (I always was surprised that the Ministry building was underground) sat none other than Draco Malfoy. He wore a white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled past his elbows and a silky green tie. I suppose he never thought to wear anything but Hogwarts attire. He glanced up from the report he was reading and lazily took notice of me, then back at the paper.

"Finally, the new receptionist. It's about time, honestly," he said hotly, setting down the paper. He signed it, a green flourish. You'd never guess he was a Slytherin, really. I stared menacingly at him as he played with the bottom of his tie. "You got a name, then, or are we simply to call each other Boss and Receptionist. Though feel free to throw some adjectives in front of Boss." I looked up at him in a "Are you freaking serious?" way.

I shoved my notebook at him, pointing at the page I had showed to my dad's friend. _I'm Ginny Weasley, the new receptionist. _

He looked at it curiously, then back up at me. "Weasley? I swear, Job Management has a sick sense of humor." _Especially if they hired you, _I thought. How I longed for speech right now, I would have torn this boy apart.

"So can you talk?" he asked. I shook my head vigorously and folded my arms. "Great. Just dandy." He rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was better than pity, though I wouldn't have expected that out of my new employer. "Okay. So here's what you do. If people come to visit and I'm busy, write that down. If a worker complains, write that down. If something goes wrong and I'm not here, write that down. You catch my drift," he drawled, as if this was some rehearsed thing he was forced to say. Which it might have been, now that I think about it.

I pointed to myself and then at the door.

"You want to leave? Fine by me. They've got other receptionist jobs, I'm sure." He smirked. I pursed my lips and shook my head. I pointed again at myself and then back at the blasted door.

"You want to... go outside?" He was starting to lose his patient. _Sodding Malfoys, _I cursed in my head.

I motioned for the billionth time at myself and then opened the door to point at my desk.

"You know, we wouldn't have this problem if you were better at charades," he commented, raising a clear eyebrow. My nostrils flared and my jaw clenched. I picked up my notebook again and scribbled _May I go to my desk now, my self-centered boss?_ I half-smiled at the casual raising of his eyebrows in disbelief.

I left before he answered, almost forgetting my notebook, and sat down at my desk.

--

**A/N Ah, first bits of D/G banter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**Oh and in the previous chapter: Lyutbishka, the gypsy woman's name, is a Romanian name meaning "love." FYI. :D**

**Read! Review! Come on, just click that cute li'l button; it'll only take a minute!**


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